


These fading beats

by blue_chocolate



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, But you already knew that, Car Sex, Infidelity, M/M, Pining, Unsafe Sex, do not use spit as lube, karukara, one-sided, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_chocolate/pseuds/blue_chocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>And so Louis jerks him off slowly and Harry moans into his neck with muscular arms braced on either side of his head, letting out grunts of satisfaction at having those lovely hands on him finally, those which he has desired so long. He wonders if Louis knows this, if this will become a thing after they’re safe from the snow. Maybe they will spend the rest of winter in each other’s arms surrounded by candles, drinking chocolate and bring heat to each other’s cheeks.</em><br/>Maybe.</p><p> </p><p>For Karukara’s picture and prompt because they're the embodiment of Jesus</p>
            </blockquote>





	These fading beats

**Author's Note:**

> This is (as you should know by reading the summary and tags) a prompt taken from karukara.tumblr.com (it can be found here http://karukara.tumblr.com/post/73141184138/zouis-one-sided-larry-or-the) and is, as usual, not proofread. There may also be some mistakes (probably a lot if we're being honest) in the facts mentioned, and I am sorry if that occurs. The title is taken from Youth by Foxes. I hope you enjoy it :)

_hey sorry to bother but i’m at gran’s and won’t be home until tomorrow so could you please pick up lou for me? :))_

Harry wonders why, of all people there is in the world, that Zayn would text him. That icky Harry even popped up as a real person in his head and that he decided to act on it, thinking “oh, maybe Harry can pick up my boyfriend because he has nothing to do!” Now, it isn’t like he _has_ anything to do, but he doesn’t treasure the fact that he has become one of _those_ people with cancelled yoga classes that sulks in his ratty living room accompanied by a large bowl of chilli cheese. So, he’s a bit jealous.

There is an address underneath the sentence, Harry notices as he rolls of the couch and stomps out into the hallway to slip into his jacket. For a sweet moment he contemplates whether to actually reply to the man, snaking his sock clad feet into a pair of warm boots and regarding the view from his fifth-floor flat over London. It’s a rather simple design that pervades his home with the living room walls gone and replaced with thick windows, a minuscule ebony square table in front of his telly and assembly of various chairs; the kitchen drawers and cupboards made of sleek walnut with the black tones sliding in like mist in the morning; his bedroom holds a single bed with a white duvet embracing him in his sleep, paintings decorating the walls adequately; and the hallway is stocked with shoes, coats, and beanies.

Before he leaves, and after he has texted Zayn that _sure he can pick up “Lou” for him_ , he glances down at his phone and the picture displaying a laughing Louis on it. It had been unintentionally captured, as the two had been out for a day in town and stopped by the park, dropping their light packing into the grass and relishing the sunrays beaming at them from blue skies. Louis had wanted to take picture of them both and their lovely surroundings – which he did – and as Harry was going to take the phone after half an hour of master photography Louis had cracked up and the phone had clicked.

So, naturally, Harry made it his background picture.

He sighs and lets his head drop to the wall, tugging at his curls and tucking the phone away again deep into his the back pocket of his skinny jeans. Therefore he misses the raging storm outside and the millions and millions of ice crystals swirling around in the harsh wind.

It hits him like a train when he steps outside the apartment complex, clawing at his reddening cheeks and cutting his eyes alike an army of needles. His long lanky legs carry him forth through the gradually thickening layer of snow, steps crestfallen and dreary. The white around him is too intense, even though everything else outside lies in complete darkness with the city lights as a one and only source of warmth. Had he just gone out for a quick stop to the supermarket down the street to get some cereal he would have changed his mind in the matter of half a second upon being met by the turmoil on the other side of his door; but this is something he’s doing for Louis, and it’s not like a little snow has killed anyone.

There is a garage three floors deep under the building he lives in, to which he has to actually go outside and around to a backdoor to reach – eight minutes – and inside there is a slow-running elevator that hisses with each shift as it rides up and down the first and second floor – three minutes at the minimum. Once he gets down to where the fifty lines of cars stand he has to find his own by following the ridiculous beep it makes in the big hollow space – six minutes – as to then finally getting in and out into the wilderness by slippery roads resembling ice-skating rinks. Thing is that it has gone at least twenty minutes until he gets properly on his way, stress coursing through his veins in thick lumps and all the many joys.

While he’s navigating on narrow paths squiggling through the forest he receives yet another text from Zayn, saying “ _really sorry to burden you but thank you once again for doing this, he appreciates it_ ”. Harry doesn’t answer that one. Why does Zayn feel the atrocious urge to rub it in Harry’s face that he and Louis are a thing? It’s not like Harry will wake up one day with a memory loss and suddenly feel his entire life brighten at the realization that he and Louis can be a “thing”, because he won’t. It’s not a law that he has to enjoy Zayn’s company and thrive in his happiness, just as it is not a law that he has to be polite and smiling all the time. He respects their relationship but doesn’t necessarily have to approve of it.

So _why_ does Zayn insist on getting him to hop on the Zayn-loves-Louis train?

At his destination in the outskirts of a nearby town he finds two people holding up a collapsed Louis on the porch, stumbling down to the front of his car as he slams the door shut and cuddles further into his clothes. One of them is Liam, he knows from occasional photos appearing on his timeline, although he doesn’t know any of them personally except for Louis. The aforementioned man seems out of it at the moment, and Not-Liam is the first to carefully move Louis’ body from theirs to Harry’s while throwing up apologies for the man’s state and “thanks you’s” for the fact that Harry (like the knight in shiny armour he is) actually showed up.

Then things get interesting.

In the midst of incoherent sentences and cackles he understands that Zayn had really no idea that Louis was going to this party this fine evening and that Liam's company had tried calling a whole damn list of other people until, finally, settling on Harry’s own name. He can’t say that it feels good or particularly relaxing to know that not only is he a chilli cheese eating yoga guy, but he has now been pushed even further down on that list. (Once you’re below all the animal lovers dedicating their lives to satisfy their hamster’s needs it’s getting bad.)

Louis seems to wake from his alcoholic daze at one point and eyes Harry up and down with a satisfied smirk where his head rests atop the taller’s shoulder, before he violently shoves away the male to fall back into Not-Liam’s arms with a heavy groan.

“Oh God, is he drooling on you?” Liam asks in light disgust, clearly not as intoxicated as all others, where he gazes at his friend and Louis gurgling in his arms.

“That would be the snow,” Not-Liam says and pulls Louis to stand on steady feet, guiding him over into Harry’s arms who accepts him uncomfortably and serves to shield him from the rain.

“Some crazy shit, this,” Liam states and gestures around all of them into the mixture of black and white stripes colouring the face of the world, “they said it’d be quite rough but from what I’ve heard this is the worst storm in like, a hundred years or something.”

“And this you must speak about while my balls are falling off?” Not-Liam snarls, Harry just now noticing that he has nothing but a loose fitting tank top on and garlands wired into his blonde hair.

Louis squirms unhappily in Harry’s grasp and starts whining and gaping about how he misses his warm bed at home and that he freezes and that Harry is holding him too tightly. Liam and his friend seem to have forgotten the whole frigidity problem and are watching them sympathetically.

“We’ll be off then,” Harry smiles plastically and starts to guide Louis away to his car though the storm ripping through their skin and clothes.

“Drive safely, and thank you for picking him up mate!” Not-Liam shouts at their backs and waves merrily as to punctuate his sentence with Liam firmly gripping his shoulder and ushering them back into the warmth with mile-long steps. Their footprints, at first printed into the frozen cover on top of the ground, hastily disappear into more nothingness as the downfall proceeds and grows. Harry hopes that they will indeed get home safely.

Louis is singing quietly to himself when Harry begins their way back home on icy roads once more, tapping his palms on his thighs like drums and a bubbly laugh or two slipping past his tequila lips. He is constantly resting his head against the back of Harry’s seat and breathing hotly into his neck, and Harry resists pulling out some of the mints in his pocket and shove a tonne of them into Louis’ mouth because he smells goddamn awful with the mix of liquorice and what does appear to be tomato sauce.

“How have you been doing?” Louis inquires amidst the trees rushing past them at nine hundred miles an hour. He is picking his nails nonchalantly and Harry hears the cracking of them there they crush between his teeth in the silence of the car as the nature’s forces are hollering outside.

“Should I drop you off at Zayn’s flat or your own?” Harry counters with flatly, eyes trained solely on the road and the whirling blocking his full vision.

“I’d rather you answer me first.”

When Harry doesn’t he hears Louis’ seatbelt being unclipped and then a body is climbing clumsily over the middle of the car to sit next to him in the front seat, leaning his body over Harry’s and getting into his personal bubble more than a foul smelling teacher would.

“Louis, what the hell are you doing?” Harry squeaks and presses the man back into his feet, their speed slowing down until they’re creeping up an icy hill and hearing the wheels growl at the chilly contact.

“I am waiting for you to answer my question, that’s what the hell I am doing,” the smaller man slurs and rests his forehead on Harry’s arm. Harry, who with a slimmer of annoyance and obligation, heaves him off into his own car seat. Louis chuckles and musses up his greasy hair with stiff red fingers.

“You might want to chill a bit if you don’t want us to die out here,” Harry mumbles and breathes out a thick cloud from his lips that blooms out in the entire front seat.

“You’re like a dragon when you do that,” Louis observes in awe and waves his hand ineptly in front of Harry’s face.

“Stop; you’re gonna get us killed,” Harry scolds and puts Louis’ hand back into his lap. The shorter male huffs in offence and pouts a minute in silence. For a moment Harry thinks he’s gone mute. Then.

“Why were you the one to come and get me? Where is Zayn?”

And it’s not like it doesn’t feel like being shot by those words, and that he won’t feel it once he’s settled in the solitude of his own home again, but for now he will do his best to ignore it.

“At his gran’s, didn’t you know?” he spits and sees Louis stare out the window stubbornly from the corner of his eye.

“What? I have to know _everything?_ And you know there’s no need to get so pissy; I was just asking about your day.” His voice has gone quiet and hurt. It’s because of the alcohol and the tiredness jumping on him. Harry doesn’t care.

“I’m not pissy,” he speaks lowly, desperately keeping track of where the road actually starts and ends and prepare himself to slam the breaks if a deer prances by.

“Yeah you are,” Louis retorts childishly, and Harry chooses this opportunity to worry as the slurry edge beings to fade. “You are always like this when we mention Zayn. Why is that? Sad that he’s taken?”

“Louis, lets not talk-“

“Okay. Put on the radio.”

Harry blinks aggressively and tries to swerve past a mountain of snow jamming their path. “What does that have to do with anything right now?”

“You don’t want to talk and I’m not going to talk to you if you won’t fucking listen so turn on the damn radio,” he repeats calmly. As Harry makes no effort to move Louis shoots forward and soon David Guetta is blasting through the vehicle. Harry thinks about Louis laughing in the summer sun.

They should be about halfway home by now, he figures, and Louis has turned to forcefully ignoring him where he clicks his tongue in the passenger seat, rolling his fingers against the hard interior of the car and completely out-of rhythm with the electric sounds booming out like shockwaves. Harry keeps glancing at him instead of the road and feels his posture go stiff as he tries to drive straight and proper – which isn’t an easy thing to do with someone like Louis almost sitting in his lap.

But, once the radio gets boring and plays the same awful pop songs over and over, Harry shuts it off with a shaky hand moving away from the still cold steering wheel. Louis sighs and lets out a hiccup before flipping it on again, stopping Harry’s hand by grabbing his wrist when the younger goes to mute it.

“At least listen to some good music if you’re gonna have it on,” Harry huffs and furrows his eyebrows as a fat cloud of snow falls down in front of their car from the trees around like a veil.

“Mm but this is good music Harry,” Louis smiles, flicks the button again and sways along gleefully to the beat.

“Turn it off,” Harry orders and imagines Louis stumbling through the door to Zayn’s flat and fall drunk down in the bed to cuddle into the boyfriend scented sheets.

“No – why?” Louis asks, now a bit unsure as he studies Harry’s firm expression.

“Because I say so; it’s my car.”

Louis chuckles quietly. “That is a very stupid reason may I tell you-“

“It _doesn’t matter_ ,” Harry grits and presses away all thoughts of Zayn gathering Louis up in his arms to kiss his sweet skin.

Louis’ voice rises a bit in pitch as the conversation carries on and his eyes grow wider and more confused, “C’mon, it’s just the radio babe, no need to get so defensive about it.”

“It’s not- Okay, you know what, just turn the damn thing off,” and then he is muting it once and for all.

Louis reaches out for it again. “Louis, stop-“

“I just want to listen to-“

“Stop; you’re distracting-“

“Please just let me listen god-“

An ice patch takes their car and throws it off into another direction; off the road and into the forest with incredible speed and Harry’s grip on the steering wheel turns iron. It rings nastily in his ears as the headlights display a tree zooming towards them and he can’t hear anything except for the sound of metal hitting wood and pounds of snow plummeting down atop their car and locking them in. It’s ringing, ringing, and he realizes that he’s not dead yet.

He’s still sitting relatively unharmed in his seat, his breath like air bound ivory and the cracks on the front window blooming out dangerously like vines where it hit the tree. His shoulder is throbbing in pain and he feels a hot trail run diagonally over his chest from the straining of the seatbelt as it has saved him from hurting himself severely.

Next thing he does after checking his own state is to glance at his left side.

There is a bit of blood splatter on the interior there, painting the grey surfaces like vague freckles on skin, and it runs down in small drops to gather up in Louis’ hair. The man’s head lies leant halfway out of the broken window, strands of his pointy hair slackening and running over his face and peaceful expression instead of staying styled. His eyelids are frozen in place, closed as if he’s gone for a nap, and there is a large gash by his left temple that looks irate and ready to spread and consume all of his face in one go to turn him into a twisted disfigured version of his self.

Harry whimpers and lets his hand travel over the seat to settle on Louis’ cold cheek and thumb at the flesh a bit before seeking its way down to his throat. There is a faint pulse still beating there, the only life existing in the elder man at the moment, and Harry cries out in relief. He keeps sending hushed prayers to God as he tears off his seatbelt and adjusts himself so that he can easier check up on Louis.

Louis’ lips are chapped from the cold and parted, still intact but draining life as the tempest outside creeps into the car through the wrecked window. All of his teeth seem to be still in line and firmly stuck to his gum, but Harry still pries the male’s mouth open a little bit to check.

“Louis?” he croaks as he continues to rub his thumb over Louis’ pulse through the gap his jacket leaves, “Can you hear me? L-Louis?” He sniffles and moves away a few blood immersed strands of hair plastered to his temple, feeling sickness bubble up quickly in his gut at the horrifying sight of the enormous hole into Louis’ head. Beautiful Louis.

Harry presses Louis’ side shakily to his chest and avoids all wounds possible (known and unknown) as he begins to fumble after his phone with distress stuck in his throat like a fat lid. The screen is still whole, lacking cracks and battle scars, and he dials while petting Louis’ skin helplessly and cradling him close.

“ _999 – Which service do you require?_ ”

“I n-need an ambulance,” he stutters and coughs to clear his throat. There is an eternity before he hears a voice asking him to inform her of the situation occurring.

“ _What is the address of the incident?_ ”

“He’s- we’re somewhere along Warren Lane I think. Outside of London. My friend and I-I were driving and the- our car wavered and we hit a tree and he hit his head and he’s unconscious and b-bleeding-“

“ _I’m organising help for you now, stay on the line and I’ll tell you exactly what to do next. The next questions I ask will not delay any help_.”

”O-okay. Thank you.”

“ _Are you and your friend the only ones in the car?_ ” the woman inquires.

“Yes we are.”

“ _Is your friend breathing?_ ”

“Y-yes, but his pulse is weak.”

“ _How old is he?_ ”

“Twenty-two.”

Harry gulps icy air into his lungs until they’re filled and chilling him to the bone as he stares at Louis’ head and plants a small kiss there.

“ _Is your friend allergic to anything?_ ”

“I- no, not that I know of.”

“ _Any medical conditions?_ ”

“No, he’s fine. Just hurry up please – I don’t think- he’s shaking and the window is broken-”

“ _Alright. Can you leave the car?_ ”

He looks around them in the vehicle to study a way out, and he peeks out the window to see the snow rising like mountains outside.

“I don’t know,” he splutters and eases his fingers out of Louis’ hair and strokes rapidly over his arms to keep him warm, “there is snow everywhere.”

“ _Can you turn on the headlights?_ ” She is still so, so calm, and Harry wonders how she manages when he’s speaking like this and acting the way he does.

He reaches over the smaller body in his lap and fumbles after the right switch, a rumbling sound booming out into the wilderness and then one of the lights are flickering to life. “Yes,” he answers, “one of them is lit. But can you- what am I supposed to do?”

“ _First of all you need to stay calm_.”

“Okay.” He can do that, right?

“ _Is he cold?_ ”

“Like ice,” he replies and observes the way Louis’ chest seems to fight for breath as it rises and sinks irregularly. “I’ll- I have some blankets and stuff- should I cover him up?” His voice is vibrating more than ever from the panic pounding inside of him like poison in his veins.

“ _Yes, that would be good, then you should-_ “

_Click._

“H-hello? Is anyone- are you still there?” When he removes the phone from his ear he notices the black screen and the battery symbol blinking up at him.

“Fuck!” he grits and clenches his fist around it, feeling the ridges of his broken case cutting into his palm. He stuffs the thing away into his pocket and moves his leg up to support Louis’ weight.

“I need you to breathe for me,” he mumbles and feels the frozen tear trails stick to his cheek like a second skin. He swallows and moves Louis off of him again to sit carefully in the passenger seat, then Harry gets up on resistant legs and climbs into the back seat clumsily. He falls forward and winces when his arm is twisted into an unnatural position where he is still holding onto the back of the front seat with Louis in it, biting into his lip to keep calm and avoid his sense fleeing him completely.

Louis’ body is surprisingly light when Harry reaches over the middle of the car to grab the smaller man. He snakes an arm under Louis’ knees and another one supporting his back, and then they’re huddled together once more among some spare blankets in the back of the wrecked car. Harry lets him lie down gently and smoothes his palm over the elder’s forehead, avoids the heavily bleeding gash and watches as blood continues to trickle down Louis’ now pale skin.

There comes a small groan from him, and Harry’s eyes widen to the size of the moon as he begins to remove his jacket to drape around the man. Louis’ eyes blink awake with major difficulty and his mouth closes and opens tiredly, his dull gaze settling on Harry’s form bent over him to fight away the cold seeping in from the front.

“Harry,” he rasps and lifts a powerless hand to grip his shirt and try to pull him down.

“Oh God, Louis,” Harry gushes and immediately sits down to once again cradle Louis to his chest. The man’s eyes can’t hold onto one place for more than five second before flickering elsewhere, and there are light glittering tears sticking to his eyelashes as he attempts to figure out what has happened. Louis is shaking worse than a leaf a stormy day in autumn, pressing back against Harry’s chest before he drops back down onto the dirty seat with a sob and stares up at the ceiling.

Harry is frozen for a second as he regards Louis where he lies, exhausted, confused and with ragged breath. He watches as more tears begins to bubble out of the smaller man’s eyes until he’s crying heavily without any real room to breathe, and Louis starts clawing at his throat and chest as the only sound loud enough to compete against the howling outside becomes his sobs and pants.

“Louis,” Harry says unsurely and tentatively pats his calf, “y-you need to calm down, there is an ambulance coming and you’re gonna be fine Lou, just-“ When he realizes that Louis is not even pretending to listen to what he has to say and only works himself up more and more Harry moves closer to him and caresses his cool cheek. Louis stills as if he’s been blasted by five tonnes of lightning and stares up at Harry, sobs ceasing and being reduced into pants, trying to get some air into his lungs.

“Are you cold?” Harry whispers and noses along Louis’ arm to his shoulder where there is a small rip in the ghostly white skin. When he hears a tiny affirmation from Louis he strips his shirt off his body and curls it around the man, keeping eye contact with him as he cocoons Louis in fabric after fabric, garment after jacket. Harry’s breathing is hollow and he feels strange. He should be freezing his balls off now, if he’d been sane, but all he feels is hot waves running over his skin and the warming sight of Louis cuddled up in his clothes – safe and sound.

“The ambulance is coming,” he continues to mutter and pulls Louis into an embrace and kisses the small lines of blood on his shoulder, ignoring the taste of copper on his tongue. Louis shudders and relaxes at the sensation of Harry’s hands rubbing him warm and plump lips paying attention to his hammering wounds until Harry stops at the gash in his head, which has, admittedly, stopped bleeding almost entirely now much to their relief.

Harry’ lips are parted where his body hangs over Louis’ shivering one, meeting blue eyes and a gaze that flickers from his own to down below, and he can’t stop his breathing from stopping. Louis’ hand go up to his neck and massages the area with little circles being rubbed in tenderly as their clouds of hot air from their lungs mingle together into a mixture of guilt and caution.

Louis’ frost eyes. Laughing in the sun.

Louis drags him down by his neck and seals their lips together with a sort of finality, his free palm grazing Harry’s chest and hanging onto his waist lazily once their lips move properly together. Harry has trouble keeping himself up without putting unwanted weight on Louis and is forced to keep the kissing light on his part, drinking in Louis’ sighs and keens.

Harry hears himself mumbling incoherent things, like life-changing secrets, into Louis mouth, and soon he allows himself to rest some of his weight upon Louis’ legs and can kiss him more intently and with more need than previously. What is even more wonderful than to hear Louis’ approval oozing out and wrapping them in is the texture of the man’s lips. Despite the cold they have regained their warmth, heat pulsating there like heartbeats when Harry tugs at it and licks it slowly, his tongue sliding into Louis’ mouth and letting them touch for a first time.

Snow blows into the front seat in wild heaps, piling up and creating hills looking like someone has let out a pack of sugar, and Harry thinks he can feel the sweet taste on Louis – on his skin and on his lips. His fingers tread over the smaller man’s skin, up and down to map him out before slipping under a few of the layers he’s embedded in and moving back to undress Louis. It goes slowly to not harm anyone of them further, and Louis understands what Harry is trying to do so he slips his arms out of all shirts and lifts himself to once again cup Harry’s cheek and draw him in for a kiss – pouty lips and all.

And Harry tries to not acknowledge the stench of alcohol that comes with it, but it’s hard when he knows that he’s going home to Zayn tomorrow.

He’s never liked Zayn anyway.

Louis scrambles into his lap gawkily and resumes their actions by licking into his mouth once again, hands resting on everywhere around his shoulders and neck.

“Are you okay?” Harry mumbles and moans silently when Louis pulls away to nip at his jaw. It is all too heavenly for him to comprehend, but he must be sure that he has Louis’ consent to do this, even if it wasn’t he who started.

But Louis doesn’t reply in a clear manner. Instead he rests his forehead against Harry’s and grinds down on him with his thighs wrapped loosely around Harry’s and his feet poking at his bum. Louis begins to play with the hem of his skinnies, smiling timidly and far too innocently as he steals kiss upon kiss from Harry while ridding himself of all excess clothing sheltering his chest.

It is as Louis begins to remove his jeans that the male on top drops his limp hands to his sides and fall forth with a minuscule peep, his heart thudding out of his chest with such ferocious excitement. Harry strokes his back dotingly and pecks his nose, placing him stretched out in the seat once more so that he won’t strain himself further than he already has. Then his jeans are stuck mid-thigh and Louis is whining about some loss of warmth so Harry dives back in to nibble on his earlobe gladly.

Louis still has fresh tears falling from his eyes, and his hint of a smile is long gone, but as he is bucking his hips up into Harry the younger man only sees the hunger; only feels the need in Louis motions and his progressively increasing whiny behaviour.

Harry helps him out of his jeans and arranges the spare clothes and blankets all around them, mouthing at Louis’ neck and his Adam’s apple that bobs in time with each noise of pleasure bleeding from his lips. The sounds come out so raw but somehow delicate, and Harry feeds off them. At the same time as he wants to kiss Louis lovingly and cook him dinner after a tough day at work he can’t wait for the ambulance to arrive and fix the man, take Louis away and take care of him and stop Harry’s actions. It’s hard to decide which part he wants the most.

Louis’ cold nimble fingers dip inside his briefs shyly and his lips are occupied with kissing and biting Louis’ chest back to warmth like the male has wordlessly requested. Once Harry glances down at Louis through heavy eyelids he sees that the brunet is all bare skin now with light pants fleeting from his mouth and his cock beginning to gain colour. Harry’s heart explodes at the view and his abdomen contracts.

Louis wets his lips and boldly tugs Harry’s briefs off and drops them in the front seat, slinging a thin arm around the taller’s shoulder and pulling him down to breathe each other’s air and wants. The wait for something to happen is torturous, but Harry doesn’t dare to move. Everything is absolute ice between them and they’re both wide-eyed, staring in silence at the other as the storm rages outside.

Then it breaks.

It all comes crashing down as Louis spits in his hand and places it lightly on Harry’s length, staying there until Harry is coming out of his daze and nodding in scorching anticipation. Louis lets saliva slip from mouth onto his hands and grabs his cock, carefully flicking his wrists and circling his thumb leisurely as it dips into his slit. It’s like Louis’ skin is igniting flames sparking into life and Harry is a reborn forest created out of years of ashes.

As Louis proceeds Harry will burn.

And so Louis jerks him off slowly and Harry moans into his neck with muscular arms braced on either side of his head, letting out grunts of satisfaction at having those lovely hands on him finally, those which he has desired so long. He wonders if Louis knows this, if this will become a thing after they’re safe from the snow. Maybe they will spend the rest of winter in each other’s arms surrounded by candles, drinking chocolate and bring heat to each other’s cheeks.

Maybe.

He turns his head so that each and every one of his breaths hits Louis’ ear, holding himself up with one arm and rubbing his free hand over the man’s nipple and kissing his neck slowly. Louis skin tastes like apple juice, he has determined, and as he sucks small marks onto Louis’ complexion his thoughts are drawn back to the summer. Louis’ features are relaxed and in awe when his fingers squeeze Harry’s cock once more, one of his hands going up to linger onto the taller’s sweat shining cheekbones and kissing him contentedly with gasps fleeting between their bitten lips and the underlying hunger shining through while Louis shuffles backwards and angles his hips up, pressing himself back on Harry’s leaking member as eagerly as he can in his state of health – something that has slipped their minds during the time spent in the car wreck.

There is a kind of weighty scent in the air once Harry picks up Louis’ hand and kisses his knuckles, sucking the tips of the man’s fingers into his mouth and lapping at them with his tongue caringly with a sober mind. Louis’ breath hitches and the clouds in front of him momentarily vanishes into nothing to then start again by blowing out thickly into Harry’s face. Louis can watch his eyelids flutter close as he sucks impatiently, stroking his curls and watching downwards where Harry’s cock has woken into life just like his own, a lilac shade that seems unnatural compared to their pasty skin in the light from the blaring headlights outside, and he feels strings of precum drip down on him; hot and sticky like expected. It sends hi body jerking up slightly, his hips snapping and his head pressing back against the seat as the rest of his body bends like a C. Harry chuckles in the back of his throat and Louis moans when the noise is mixed with another ragged grunt of pleasure.

“Cold,” Louis hisses out and searches for Harry’s gaze where he now has two hands on either side of the taller’s face, eyes blown and wild.

“I don’t- there is no condom-“

“I’m clean,” Louis cuts him off and sucks on the tip of his tongue while excitedly pushing his ass back; trying to get around Harry whose cock just wets the skin instead of obeying the older’s demands.

“Lou,” Harry sighs when Louis lets his of his lips to lean back and rub his fingers together with the precum over his entrance. It’s still surreal – a mere piece of fiction in his brain which he is now a part of, and as he holds Louis’ gaze while the male fingers himself open with barely slick fingers he grasps those fragments on the loose in his mind and feels them slip past his open palms, slide through his skin like ghosts and fleet far away out of reach. He holds onto Louis’ waist, feeds off the electricity shooting through each of their touches and listens closely after the sound of sirens in the distance.

The blood pumping fervently through his veins like venom is alternating between being ice and magma and he realizes that Louis’ free hand is guiding his fingers to join in the fingering as the elder male can’t quite reach with the angle in the car seat. Louis lays panting heavily and drawing air from the coldness around them by inhaling sharp breaths and exhaling them intermittently, like in a secure bubble in which he has his own little world to dream away in.

“I would have brought lube-“ Harry croaks and kisses Louis’ mouth while pushing in a finger alongside the man’s own, relishing in the gasps of bliss leaking out into the space around their sweat shining bodies. Harry holds onto Louis’ thighs with his upper arms where they are snaked around his waist like a belt and studies Louis in fascination when the smaller of them rolls his hips against his fingers and lets his face scrunch up easily at the gained friction blooming out there.

“ _Harry_ ,” he moans insistently and his frost eyes fly open to fixate intently on Harry’s face just about glued to his own. His gaze flickers down to Harry’s lips as the taller curls his fingers and Louis purposefully clenches around them at the best of his ability with every bit of power he has still with him. New sounds come rising from where their skin is sliding and rubbing together – like a glass of water or two sloshing around, and it all comes with their whimpers and growls. Harry seizes the moment to peck Louis’ right nipple and letting his lips linger there on the nub while their fingers are moving in and out of the man; twisting, scissoring and prying into unknown territory. It’s almost like Louis’ ass is sacred.

Harry chuckles in surprise when Louis yanks his hands away and off of his body, running his fingertips up his erect cock with feather light touches that should tickle but instead only teases.

“Are you wet?” Louis breathes with his eyelids falling shut and whimpering when his fingers graze the sensitive head of his length and his whole body jerks as if it’s been electrocuted. It sounds unbelievably strange, but Harry understand what he means and therefore replies with a weak “Yes” and watches as Louis fights to free his cock from the hand wrapped around it. He wraps his shaking arms tightly around Harry’s neck and presses their bodies close to share heat and scent.

“Warm me up,” he ushers quietly with a hoarse voice and spreads his legs, his head falling back deep into the seat and his eyes waiting for Harry to make his move.

Harry groans in approval and spits in his hand for extra caution, tracing his fingers along the open rim and feeling a wave of adoration shoot through him as it winks back at him and has Louis moaning softly while all the time keeping his hands on the thighs around Harry’s body. He spots the gash in Louis’ temple again and dies a bit inside.

As he moves inside with a firm hand grabbing the base of his cock and guiding himself into the gorgeous man he observes Louis’ every change in expression. Louis is looking back up at him in a silent scream and his eyebrows snugly knit together, completely still and impassive except for a streak of thankfulness in his features. Harry can only hope that it isn’t in pain he’s trying to shout about, because he is going as slow and steady as he can without either of them protesting in some way.

So to ease the pain felt by the smaller man Harry leans down to rub their lips together leisurely and feels vibrations run through him like a hoard of bisons when Louis purrs contentedly like a proper cat, and even before Harry has settled begins to roll his hips back onto the male and pressing the cock farther inside. Harry grunts in satisfaction when Louis’ entrance stretches fully around his girth and strains against the confinements being brought with the twenty-two year old’s skin back there.

Not to sound desperate, but as he hasn’t had intercourse with anyone since the fifth of June (which was just a quick fuck in a cubicle at some club – wall sex is not his thing) the pressure and sensation of having Louis bare, exposed and wrapped around his cock is heavenly and too good to be true, so when Harry starts to thrust slowly into the warmth his eyes hit the back of his head and his curls, flat and greasy with sweat, falls to brush over Louis’ face.

Harry braces himself with whitening knuckles on his fists and, by Louis’ whispered demand, begins to snap his hips forth with thick grunts slipping out when he feels Louis’ insides caress his pulsating length with the tightness and ridges. Ice crystals decorate Louis’ lashes beautifully where he keeps one hand plastered to Harry’s sweat smeared cheekbone and grasps with magenta fingers, his eyes seeking out Harry’s while his body moves back and forth in the seat with each thrust coming and going.

Louis keens sharply and pulls him closer by the thighs locked around Harry’s waist, his toes crossing each other and pants drifting out from his mouth as naturally as words when their pace quickens remarkably into a single fluid motion. Once again Harry nearly faints at each sound coming from them and it soon becomes a sort of melody in his head that plays on a loop when he watches Louis fall apart underneath him, slowly, slowly as long as Harry continues to move.

With thin limbs, alcohol woven in his breath and the left half of his face immersed in blood he lies there, regarding Harry like he’s a saint sent from above to answer his prayer – which is, unfortunately, not the case this time. The backseat is reeking with the stench of sex while the front has become a ski slope with the snow running down the seats, and Harry feels hyperaware of everything around them; Louis in particular. It feels amazing and incomprehensible that he of all people is the one to make Louis feel this way – this endearing, petite ball of sunshine packed in a human – and it’s only after Harry comes with a long raspy moan dragging out of his throat that he wonders if Louis feels this way with Zayn; if Zayn can make him scream like Harry can.

Upon Harry’s release Louis’ body spasms and he arches into Harry’ figure where he is leaning over the smaller man, said man’s nails fruitlessly scraping across Harry’s burning back with fingers creating lines of fresh blood there as if on a blank canvas. He clenches around Harry with his thighs, hole and arms, and his mouth turns slack as the power left in him focuses solely on his orgasm. Harry whimpers and kisses him repeatedly for comfort, their lips light when they meet and dry from the cold but produces a divine feeling anyway.

Louis’ hand slips from his cheek to land on the seat with a muffled thud where it rolls away from his body, his eyes moving to the back of his head to be shielded by his eyelids. It takes a while for Harry to realize that Louis has fallen back into unconsciousness (during which time he’s pulled out, begun to clean them up with tender movements and started dressing again) and when he does he immediately checks Louis' pulse in horror, finding it still very much there and beating steadily.

Besides; Louis is no longer shivering, so Harry considers this a good deed for them both.

He doesn’t know if it has been hours in there, or just minutes passing by, but when the sirens screeches down the road they’ve driven through the woods Harry is holding a fainted and clothed Louis in his arms, mumbling nonsense in his deaf ears and kissing his skin.

From then on it’s kind of a blur.

 

Harry sits in one of the halls of the hospital, rubbing his hands together and cracking his knuckles time after time in impatience. It’s about four or five in the morning, his head is pounding, and the coffee here isn’t worth enough to be called dung. The powder gathers at the bottom of the plastic mug where it stays and makes the liquid taste like absolute shit, and perhaps it’s because Harry’s nerves are taunting him with their stiffness and at the same time wild demeanour, but he does not think he has ever tasted something so foul in his entire life. Somehow he still has Louis on the tip of tongue, a feeling that mocks him even more than his nervous system, and he is happy that the cold has numbed him enough so that he won’t live with constantly touching Louis’ hot skin under his fingertips.

There is a clock sitting up above to his right, just over the reception where there is a tan boy with platinum streaks in his dark hair and giant bags under his eyes, spinning his chair around in boredom because of the lack of activity in the hospital (and lack of accidents out in the world). Harry wants to tell him to stop with the fucking spinning, but at the moment his attention is on the clock that ticks forth with one movement every third second instead of every, and all he wishes right now is to either be with Louis or throw a boulder at the clock and obliterate it.

Cold coffee is one of his worst pet peeves, so when he glances back down at his cup that no longer warms his cold hands his grip tightens and nearly splashes so-called coffee all over the fluorescent tiles. The boy in the reception (who surely can’t be older then seventeen) inspects him thoroughly with an eyebrow diving into his hair. Harry forces a toothy smile at him and then gets up to dispose of the crap-in-cup.

Once the two of them had arrived by ambulance at the hospital Louis had been taken away for immediate exam while Harry was escorted to another room where he protested against the staff’s requests to see if he had any injuries, which had resulted in them almost holding him in place by his arms while a third person took a look at his head, arms and chest. When they’d gotten to the back and saw the irate scratches all he received as a reaction was rolls of their eyes and then he was allowed to go – or, as the option he had ultimately chosen (not that it was a tough call) stay in the corridors to wait for his friend.

He strolls up to the counter and leans over, the boy leaning back as far as he can in his chair and pretending to pick his nails.

“Any updates on Louis?” Harry asks quietly with worry etched into his features.

“Louis who?” the boy questions as if there is more than one. Harry prevents his fist from going through his skull.

“Louis Tomlinson,” he replies tightly. The boy spins around on his chair and hops up to check in some digital list on the computer in the far back. He clicks his tongue and spins back onto the seat with an expression out of stone as opposite to his previous, more fearful on upon seeing Harry wandering over.

“He’s gonna stay over night so that the doctors can check on him properly until they deem him fit to go home.”

Harry snorts. “Isn’t that what they’ve done these past three hours?” he wonders doubtfully.

The boy swallows thickly and seems to scan his brain after absent medical knowledge. “Well, he was highly intoxicated by the time of the accident-“

“Is that information relevant?” Harry snaps, “for God’s sake it shouldn’t take this long-“ His voice breaks and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth with a nod to then shuffle back to the seats, tears glazing his eyes and blurring all contours of the room and interior.

“You can sleep here if you want?” the boy offers with a small voice that bounces off Harry’s ears before he has registered the words. He lies down anyway, curls up in his chair and blinks back the tears, thinking about everything and nothing. Though most of all; summer.

 

At around nine am he wakes at the sound of shrill voices countering calm ones further down in the hall. It is with a heavy head and pale cheeks that he sits up and curses the plastic chairs for being, well, made out of hard, inflexible plastic. His hands goes up to comb his curls into a somewhat respectable style and sighs deeply when the locks fall down messily in front of his dull eyes.

As soon as his brain has woken correctly and his eyes have accepted the horrid light in the hospital he tries to listen what the voices are hollering about, and almost flies from his seat when he recognizes one part of them.

Down the hall, kicking the wall with his shiny black boots, is no one other than Zayn, arguing with one of the doctors leaning on the door of Louis’ room tiredly and waving his hand idly as they converse with each other, dropping in tone and impatience rising as it comes bubbling up to the surface like an angry swarm of wasps. Harry can feel Zayn boiling from where he’s sitting, more than thirty feet behind in a small sharp-cut chair where he has spent the everlasting night curled up in a ball of sadness.

It worsens when Harry gets to his feet and glances to the reception, seeing no one there, and tip-toes through the corridor up to where the shouting is taking place. All he hears is occasional “Louis” and “but he’s fine” and Zayn’s curse words (including a large variety of everything from the original “fuck” to “dimwit”, which, admittedly, isn’t exactly a curse word but unpleasant for the ears nonetheless) and he stops a few feet behind the two people. The doctor’s gaze shifts to him from Zayn and back, and Harry gulps at the mistake.

Zayn turns with the fires of hell burning in his honey eyes; eyes that shoot open wide at the sight of lanky and snow white Harry standing like a living skeleton in the very same corridor in the very same hospital as he is.

“Harry I-“

“Accident,” Harry blurts as the first thing coming to mind but Zayn is already stomping towards him, “i-it was dark and we were arguing-“

“Why,” Zayn hisses and presses him up against the wall, doctors surging forth from different doors to remove the males from one another, “how could you be so careless? He could’ve fucking died Harry. _Died!_ And do you know whose fault that would’ve been?” Harry really does not get one say in this. Zayn pokes a thick finger to his chest and twists to press on the spot where the seatbelt had strained hours earlier. “ _Yours_.”

“Mr. Malik, please step away from him,” sounds a monotone woman’s voice and Zayn glares at him intently before letting him slip back to the sweet ground with a thud.

“I can’t believe you,” he mutters, then turns to be guided by some doctors to have a cup of crap or fizzy water.

Harry grasps his throat in fear and moves back along the wall like a shadow. He could have, of course, gaped back that “well I could’ve died too!” but what little to no difference would that have made? He’s just thankful that Zayn (seemingly, he has to remember) doesn’t know what happened in the backseat. Harry sure does.

He bumps into a doctor on his escape to some place that doesn’t hold a Zayn going berserk and stares up at him to apologize when the doctor decides to speak first. There seems to be only female doctors here – not that it’s a problem though. It’s actually kind of nice to get away from all the boy-troubles he has going on at the moment.

“You were with Tomlinson in the car, right?” she asks kindly.

“Y-yeah,” he stammers in reply and coughs as he can still feel Zayn’s fingers around his throat and his smoke scent sticking to the clothes on him. Louis shouldn’t date a guy who smokes more than he breathes.

“Well, you have permission to go inside and see him now if you’d like,” she tells him, “I’m going to get Malik.”

“Okay, alright,” he says and watches her saunter off towards the other doctors and nurses. The halls seem greyer than ever, if possible.

When Harry enters the room Louis is gazing out the window, the skies brightening gradually and bringing more light to the world than the dark snow at night can and there are fiery streaks of red and green shooting in between the clouds. Harry is sure that his footsteps can be heard, but Louis doesn’t seem too eager to glance at the worrying male in the door opening. Harry stands frozen, mouth gaping and closing and taking in the bandage wrapped around Louis’ skull with puffy hair sticking out and his white hospital outfit; his skin gaining more colour by the second and his cheeks flushed like newly cut roses. Harry adjusts his curls to sit back atop his head and snake down behind his ears.

“Louis-“

Before he can utter another syllable he’s being nudged away from the door. Louis’ head turns and his lips quirk into a warm smile when Zayn is brought into the room, gathering up Louis gently in his arms and hugging him close. Louis still doesn’t glance at Harry. There are a few members of the staff witnessing the reunion and Harry realizes that, he too, is a spectator in this situation (although cruel trick of reality would most likely suit it much better). Zayn’s hands cup Louis’ cheeks and they kiss slowly and happily, Harry thinking about how Louis looked like panting in the car with Harry’s cock deep inside of him. Louis seems almost in bliss now in Zayn’s arms and completely shuts the world out as if he’d been trapped in a giant pair of headphones.

As Harry moves out of the hospital he feels gazes on him that aren’t really there, as if everyone knows what happened and is judging him for it, like they’re beating him into a ball of dirt because he’s in love and stepping on him as if he is an ant.

It’s not that hard to understand, he thinks, when dropping into his couch back in the flat, sunshine fleeting through the dirty windows of the fifth floor. Or maybe bad things do happen to good people? He doesn’t know. Looking around in the messy living room he is struck by the thought that no, he won’t be holding Louis through the winter.

But just thinking about his smile makes the whole thing a bit more okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I want to thank you for reading this (and if you left kudos, commented or bookmarked then I love you a little bit?) and a mASSIVE THANK YOU TO THE BOTTOMLOUISLIBRARY FOR RECCING THIS - YOU HAD ME CRYING AT THREE AM
> 
> Pst, this has an independent sequel called "fired up on you", http://archiveofourown.org/works/2856788
> 
> Thank you all <3


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